Himawari's Whiskers
by flowerslut
Summary: Bolt may have been born with his whiskers, but Himawari wasn't. Born premature, Naruto did the only thing he could think of to save her.


_She's weak,_ the voice in the back of your head tells you. A voice that is not your own. A voice that you're so used to that it might as well truly be a part of you.

Technically it _is_ a part of you.

Your wife is in her hospital room, sleeping unsoundly—unwillingly, as unconsciousness overtook her weak body and mind easily—as your youngest child fights for her life.

You haven't even held her yet and all you can do is stand behind the glass, fingertips and forehead pressed against it with equal intensity, and stare at her with bloodshot eyes and an aching heart.

She's perfect, you realize. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. A small, barely-there patch of dark hair on top of her too-tiny head. She's pinker than Boruto was, but she's almost half as small as he was too.

You curse the January weather outside and its biting cold. She wasn't supposed to be born until April. She was supposed to be born into the warmth of the sun along with the budding flowers and the new life that always blooms after a long winter.

" _A spring baby,"_ your wife had sighed with joy, lovingly caressing her slightly-protruding belly, _"our very own flower."_ You'd smiled and kissed each of her blushing cheeks before lying your own cheek against the bare skin of her stomach.

" _Hi baby,"_ you spoke against your wife's belly, _"it's your daddy."_

 _Too early,_ the voice in your head reminds you, _she wasn't ready_.

Sakura is there constantly, checking on her fragile body, hands always hovering—never touching, he eventually notices—as she searches for things to fix. For things she _can_ fix.

Her specialty has never been infants despite having a toddler of her own at home, but she'd be damned if she let that get in the way of doing her best to learn as much as she can to help Naruto's newest child.

But sometimes there are things that are simply unfixable, even for her.

" _I can't wait to meet you, but I'll wait as long as I need."_

 _Her lungs aren't developed yet,_ Sakura tells you with her voice as gentle as it is broken, _we're struggling to keep her breathing._

Sometimes there is growth that needs to take place inside the womb for development to be successful. Sakura doesn't even need to tell you this, but she does anyway—with glassy eyes and shaking shoulders that she tries to hide but can't quite conceal.

You know, you tell her, you know.

" _Your mommy and I are so ridiculously happy to have a little girl."_

Hinata has only been sleeping for an hour, and your daughter has only been alive for two. Not enough, but you realize you have no say in how things turn out.

You're not ready to say goodbye. You haven't even properly said 'hello'. You haven't held her in your arms or kissed her head. You haven't heard her first words or watched her first steps. You haven't held her hand or wiped away her tears.

And knowing that you never will is something so unbearable it hardly even seems like an option. No time with your daughter will ever be enough for you. Not even an eternity would satiate you.

No father should have to outlive his child.

" _God knows your brother has driven us nuts."_

Boruto is at your father-in-law's place and you can't help but wonder how long it will be until Hiashi brings him by, eager to see his new baby sister. You try to remember that you'll need to send a message back to the Hyuuga compound to keep him there, to not show up.

There will be nothing to celebrate.

" _But we know Boruto is going to love you to pieces."_

You're almost resigned to your fate—to your daughter's fate—when the voice speaks up again.

 _Use me_ , it commands.

You don't understand and you're stuck frozen, face still pressed against the glass as you stare into the NICU.

 _Use me,_ Kurama growls at you with frustration.

But you still don't move. You're confused. You don't understand what he's trying to tell you.

 _My chakra,_ he reminds you with anger so potent that you flinch outwardly, _it has brought you back from the dead before._ He's angry at your resignation. At your neglectful withdrawal from the situation at hand. You can feel his fury, and you know you deserve it.

" _Just like we already do."_

And when you finally understand, your eyes widen and you stand up straight. You leave smudges on the glass where your fingers and forehead were—the last pieces of evidence of your distress.

The door that leads into the room is locked, but you'll be damned if you let that stop you. With only a fraction of your strength, you force the knob to turn completely, breaking the lock as you shove the door open.

An alarm begins to sound in response and seconds later the room is filled with the crying of infants—your daughter remains silent through the chaos. Just more proof as to how sick she is.

You barely register the sound of nurses scurrying around; one grabs your forearm and attempts to grab your attention, but you simply shrug her off. You think you hear another calling out for Sakura, but you can't be bothered to pay too much attention.

Approaching your daughter, you carefully open the incubator, and when you reach down towards her, you hesitate.

There are more wires and tubes plugged into her than you can count on first glance. The weight of the wires is most likely equal to her weight total, and the sight of her tiny veins through her nearly-translucent skin makes your hands begin to shake.

But you've never been gentler in your entire life than you are with your fragile child as you pick her up, carefully plucking electrodes from her chest as you cradle her in your arm. A machine begins beeping at the loss of contact, but it's easy to ignore.

" _I love you very much, Himawari."_

 _Don't waste time,_ Kurama snaps at you and you're thankful. With your daughter finally in your arms it doesn't take much to distract you from the task at hand.

You place a hand on her stomach and you can't help but stare at the contrast between your hand—big, rough, tan—and her body—small, breakable, pink—as you gather chakra, allowing Kurama to supply as much of his own as he's willing to sacrifice.

You don't even think of what the potential consequences of this will do to you. It doesn't even matter. As long as your little girl is okay, nothing else matters.

It's almost instantaneous, the delivery of chakra to your daughter's body. The only evidence that it ever happened is the new, fresh pair of whisker-marks burned into the skin of her cheeks.

" _And I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe."_

And when her hands immediately ball into too-tiny fists—the first display of strength you've seen from her—your breath catches in your throat.

She lets out her first sharp wail, piercing the chaos around you, and you cry too.


End file.
